


I'm A Hopeless Wanderer

by Narutwink



Series: Long Time Traveler [6]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Basically reminiscing, F/M, M/M, basically filler between the years of Grantaire's absence, but some funny, sad stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narutwink/pseuds/Narutwink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a year since Grantaire's death and no one has forgotten. Combeferre worries Grantaire feels hopeless and responsible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm A Hopeless Wanderer

It had been a year since Grantaire’s death and, at last, everyone in the Les Amis was finally becoming the people they were before the loss of their friend. Jehan and Enjolras had taken the longest to finally cope and, if anything, Enjolras would never quite be as bright as he was, in Combeferre’s eyes anyway. He could see the fire in his leaders eyes did not burn the way it used to. His words were as sharp and feverish as ever but it was his eyes that lacked all the conviction they used to. However, most people did not notice this; especially when one stands on a podium above thousands of people. 

It had been exactly one year and it was the reason the group had decided on this rally in the first place. Not only was it a rally, it was a memorial and a reminder. Enjolras had planned for weeks but it was Courfeyrac and Jehan who had decided on the decor. 

His art was everywhere. 

Paintings from his first years in high school all the way up to the week he died. They also had many of his sketches enlarged and put on posters. Grantaire was everywhere and, to Enjolras’s dismay, a good portion of it was of him. Enjolras felt all the paintings of him took away from the fact the rally was about Grantaire and violence against those like him, but the others disagreed. They believed it only proved how much belief he had in him, and why everyone they spoke to should also believe in him. 

 

Enjolras was floored. He had never seen many of the paintings. He wished he had been able to tell Grantaire how much it meant to finally see them, but he felt the man knew, in some way.

 

Grantaire had spent the day in front of the television. He was watching the rally, one of many, that was being broadcast. He realized as soon as the feed started, what it was about. 

_Him._

Grantaire was shell-shocked. Many of the paintings they had acquired, Grantaire forgot he had even painted them. He was able to remember the feelings associated with them, especially the ones of Enjolras. It really depended on the expression Grantaire had used. If Enjolras was angry, Grantaire had made him that way in a meeting. If Enjolras was sad, Grantaire was torn apart that he couldn’t fix it. If Enjolras was happy, it wasn’t for very long because it meant it was painted during the time they had dated. 

Grantaire stayed on that thought.

Technically, Grantaire’s death had been a break-up and Enjolras. Enjolras was in pain and needed comfort. Grantaire wondered if he found it in something else, _someone_ else. 

Grantaire tried to distance himself from that pain for as long as possible. He chose to concentrate on the rally. Enjolras was shining as was typical, but something was off. Grantaire had seen the difference eight months after he had left. Enjolras was speaking the same way, moving the same way but…he didn’t _see_ the way he used to. 

In the past, Enjolras would look upon his audience with hope and passion. His eyes burned the way every inch of his body did, like a sun or a newborn star. Recently, however, his eyes didn’t see the hope in those he spoke too. As if, somewhere in his mind, the passion he wanted to see in others just wasn’t there anymore. 

This hurt Grantaire more than anything, because it was his fault, and he knew it. 

 

Combeferre watched his leader with a smile. He, like many others, had taken a certain joy in watching Enjolras speak. It was moving and empowering and made one feel invincible. Combeferre had seen Enjolras’s mere words make progress and it was enough of a rush to be able to see it happen time and time again. Enjolras’s speech was followed by cheers, applause and many fallen tears from those who were moved by the story of Grantaire. Combeferre didn’t feel guilty in saying he was one of those people. He was startled by the vibration in his pocket and thought nothing of it when he answered without looking at the caller id. 

“Hello?”

“I’m more embarrassed that he didn’t mention the time I drank so much I stripped for Musichetta than the fact he actually told the story of the time Bahorel and I found that stray kitten and dressed him up in super hero outfits before finally letting Marius and Cosette keep her. Very out of character for me really.”

Grantaire had taken great care to call Combeferre and keep in touch on the movements the groups were into and their progress emotionally. He had never, however, called when so many of them were nearby and within earshot. 

 

“You honestly thought _now_ was the best time to call and tell me that?” Combeferre asks exasperated. 

“Well, I wanted you to know I was paying attention, also, are you sure Enjolras is alright? I know you’ve noticed it too.”

Combeferre stayed silent for a moment as he moved to a more secure location to have the conversation he had been hoping so desperately to avoid. 

“Of course I have,” he responds quietly. He lets out a slow sigh. “Please, don’t take this the wrong way, because I know you will and you’ll blame yourself and no one is there to watch you or comfort you or tell you it’s alright except me, so that’s what I’m doing now, but, Enjolras…he’s not the way he used to be. He still cares deeply for all people and hopes to see the world change, but without you he feels it’s all for nothing. You were the one person he hoped to inspire the most, and he feels he never really got the chance for you to see a better world.”

Grantaire lets the silence between them last, he’s not sure for how long but enough that Combeferre eventually says, “Are you still there?”

 

“Yeah. It’s just…I want to make this right.” 

 

“I know you do.”

There is another pause before Combeferre asks, “What has Javert said about the case? Are they any closer?”

Grantaire huffs and his next words are like venom, “He says they are _’trying their best and have set the brightest on the case.’_ It honestly sounds like ‘we’re stuck but we’ll let you know if anything actually happens.”

Combeferre frowns. He knew it was true because he had basically gotten the same answer a month ago when he finally able to reach Javert on his own. 

 

“You found the ones in my room I see.” Grantaire states offhandedly. 

Combeferre looks down. “After your funeral, we found that you hadn’t taken very many legal precautions and your parents were no where to be found so, your stuff was left to us after an anonymous phone call. You can at least thank Javert for that.”

Grantaire would. He most certainly would.

“Who got what?” Grantaire can’t help but ask curiously. 

“Honestly. I lost track. I know Bahorel and Jehan took your CD’s and movies. Eponine kept a lot of your keepsakes, your shot glasses mostly. You had several hundred did you know that? Anyway, We separated some of your paintings and kept the ones that were aimed at us. I particularly love the one of me at the shelter. That puppy really brought out my eyes.” Grantaire snorts. “Feuilly got a hold of your art supplies and guitar. I’m pretty sure he gave up and gave the guitar to Bahorel, though. Cosette and Marius didn’t take anything but the two paintings you made of them. They felt it wasn’t their place to take anything very personal to you. Enjolras took a couple of your sweatshirts, your combat boots and converse and your beanies. He also kept your Ipod.”

Combeferre had found that out late one night after he had gotten off the phone with Grantaire. He had been walking past Enjolras’s room and noticed music playing. When he tilted his head inside to recommend Enjolras get some sleep he found the man turned away from the door wrapped in a worn, green jacket, Grantaire’s favorite. The song that was playing was “Whisky Lullaby.” Combeferre left with all the resolve he had of telling Enjolras to do anything. Combeferre also would not mention the pillows and comforter that Enjolras has also kept. His room still smelled faintly of cigarettes and alcohol. 

“I see.” Grantaire had noticed Enjolras wearing a few of his things at rallies. His beanies and converse being the most prominent. 

 

“If you want to, we can talk later tonight, but I can hear Courfeyrac calling me and they probably are wondering where I got off to so, just, don’t be to down on yourself alright?”

Combeferre had a habit of being overly worried for Grantaire. Grantaire didn’t hate it; he also couldn’t always follow Combeferre’s orders. 

 

“Yeah, ok. Just, please burn the painting of the giraffe in a top hat. That was never supposed to see the light of day.”

 

Combeferre chuckles.

“Yeah ok.”

“Combeferre.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. As always.”

Grantaire cuts the line and Combeferre sighs as he makes his way back into the building looking for his friends. He knows he must look tired because Eponine asks if he wanted to go home. He refused the offer and chose to, instead go out for drinks in honor if Grantaire. Enjolras also went, he didn’t say much the entire night though. 

 

The group reminisced on all the hilariously stupid things they had seen Grantaire do. From as far back his teen years with Eponine to his drunken escapades with Bahorel. 

“No. Seriously though, the greatest thing I’ve ever seen Grantaire do was at Warped Tour 2010. Ah, that was a day.” Bahorel says fondly. Jehan surpasses a snicker. 

“And why is that and…what is Warped Tour?” Joly asks. 

Bahorel, Jehan and Eponine look stricken.

“It’s only the biggest concert and coalition of metal heads and alternative and anything you can think of, of the year.” Bahorel says as if it’s common knowledge. Joly raises his eyebrows.

“You see, at Warped, it’s all mosh pits and crowd surfing and just overall head banging and being in really big open spaces crushed against hundreds of other sweaty and, sometimes bloody, people loving the same bands you do. It’s beautiful really.” Joly looked shocked and horrified. 

“Anyway,” Jehan continues for Bahorel, “R had this grand idea of trying to get all the through to the front to see A Day To Remember. So naturally, we push our way through the crowd and ideally, we would have made it.”

Jehan pauses thinking back on it with a smile.

“Instead, Grantaire pushes his way into a circle pit and starts throwing punches and even _backflips_ over a guy. This leads to him being lifted up and crowd surfing all the way to the front where the lead singer is being held up by other fans and he gets Grantaire to _fucking sing with him._ ” Bahorel finishes. 

“Grantaire ended up getting all of us to hang out with the band after their set and we even got their phone numbers. We all chill out whenever they tour around here.” Jehan states showing his phone contacts for proof. 

 

“Out running the cops that night with all of us in the woods is one of my top favorites.” Eponine says smiling. 

“ _Oh my God_ ” Courfeyrac says under his breath. 

“Oh, god had nothing to with this,” Eponine continues, “It was a cold and stormy night only not really but Courfeyrac would have you think that.” Coufeyrac’s head was in his hands. “We were all doing our hand at some camping and well, long story short, there was alcohol and weed. Well, our dear friend Courf over here and the highdea, a high idea, that we should all get naked and become one with nature.”

All eyes turned to Courfeyrac who was trying to bury himself into Jehan’s side. 

 

“Obviously, we all agreed. We were stoned out our fucking minds. So the boys, Courf, Bahorel and Jehan, were stark naked and I had the decency to keep on my underwear. We all started hugging trees and shit and then ‘woop, woop.’ The police had found us as we were being loud as all get out and Grantaire turns and says, ‘hide. I have an idea.’ Now, in hindsight, this idea was fucking stupid but hey again, we were stoned and now scared. So Grantaire, who always seems to have paint on his person gets enough red paint from his supply to cover Courfeyrac in it and push him into the sight of the police.”

Everyone was on the edge of their seat.

“The mere sight of a naked man covered in ‘blood,” Eponine uses air quotes, “was enough to scare the cops senseless but it wasn’t until Courfeyrac fell down and Grantaire began chanting in fake Latin and saying, _‘The sacrifice is complete, rise now satan!_ and Bahorel lit the fire we were intending on making and it rose up nearly six feet due to the over abundance of lighter fluid that I’m pretty sure the cops screamed like little girls and pissed themselves all while running away. I guess it’s more like they outran us.”

The room was in an uproar. Everyone was laughing, even Courfeyrac and Enjolras. After they each had calmed down enough to catch their breath Bahorel held up a drink,

 

“To Grantaire. The craziest fucking bastard and the best friend anyone could ask for.”

 

There were a few “here, here’s” and they all drank silently. Enjolras downed his entire drink. A few hours later the group each made their way to their respective homes. Combeferre had been the DD for the night and had drop off Courfeyrac and Jehan before finally getting him and Enjolras home. Enjolras was quiet as Combeferre helped him into the house; he was leaning toward the drunken side. It wasn’t until he had helped Enjolras into bed that he said, 

“We really should have appreciated him more.” And left it that. 

Combeferre merely nods as Enjolras fades into a peaceful sleep. Eponine had gone to her own house for the night and Combeferre chose to call Grantaire from his room. When he didn’t pick up the first time, Combeferre was worried. He tried again and Grantaire picked up on the third ring. 

“Sorry, I was painting. My hands were covered in paint.”

Combeferre let out a breath of silent relief. He could tell in Grantaire’s voice that he hadn’t been drinking, at least not much. 

“It’s fine. So, I heard the story of you scaring cops off stark naked today.” Combeferre heard Grantaire drop his paintbrush and he smiled. It was one of the few times Combeferre was able to talk to Grantaire without one of them feeling guilty or hurt. It was nice and Combeferre hoped it helped Grantaire feel a little less lost and hopeless each time.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so basically I'm going to one chapter for each year Grantaire is gone. This is first and he's only going to gone for five years and I'll probably lump a few years together so there won't be to much filler and soon
> 
> THE REUNION. 
> 
> Stay strong my friends. 
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr or something! er-will-send-me-to-the-er.tumblr.com


End file.
